


Words on my skin, love in my heart

by amusewithaview



Series: Nothing but love in view [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:40:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusewithaview/pseuds/amusewithaview
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you have a soulmate, then their first words to you will appear on your flesh the instant they're born.</p><p>The words are a guarantee: someday, somehow, you will meet your match.  That's fate.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Of course, what happens <i>after</i> is entirely up to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_You sure do pick a lot of fights, for a little guy._

When Steve went into the ice, he had one set of words, _Bucky’s_ words, curving across the top of his left shoulder blade. They rested at his back, and they’d guarded him from the fear that he would be alone all his life until he’d finally met the man who’d say them: the man who would guard his back until the very end of the line.

When Steve woke up, he had a thin band of scratchy black lettering wrapping around his left wrist. He picked at the words whenever he was alone, not quite trying to scratch them off, but… He resented this new script, this new _person_ , who, sight unseen, had laid claim to him.

He was Bucky’s. He should’ve _stayed_ Bucky’s.

 

Natasha looked at her words with confusion, then fear as time went on. When she was young, before they took her, she did not understand the writing that curved around the outside of her right breast. With training, and time, she came to understand her words:

_You gonna shoot me, Widow?_

She feared her words, because if her soulmate knew enough to call her ‘Widow,’ then the answer to their question would probably be _yes_.

 

Tony’s words, curving across the top of his shoulders, resting just below where a shirt would expose them to scrutiny, said:

_That’s none of your business, Mr. Stark._

It explained a lot.

 

Thor didn’t have words, being an Asgardian, what he did have was an intricately woven knot of color riding low on his right hip. It did not emit light, but seemed to be iridescent, with colors ever-shifting.

It had been black, and lifeless, once, but now glimmered with all the colors of the Bifrost. A fitting homage to his Lady, he believed.

 

Bruce had _Oh, I’m so sorry!_ along the underside of his ring finger.

Hulk had _It’s okay, I trust you._ in the same place.

 

_So, what’s SHIELD’s defection policy? Do they have a dental plan? They look like they’d have a dental plan._

Clint had never really known what to make of his words, until a grey suit and a bland expression walked into his life and turned it upside down. There wasn’t much call for a word like ‘defection’ to be used around a circus, but secret agents? Yeah, it started to make a lot more sense once he went government.

And he made sure he knew the defection regs inside and out.


	2. Chapter 2

When Jane was growing up, she couldn’t read the tangle of lines that wrapped around her left bicep like a weird sort of tribal tattoo. She studied all the languages of the world, at least as far as it took her to compare and then discard them, and found that, while there were similarities to some (several, in fact), none really _matched_.

She put it out of her head because, well, the words were there, right? That meant she’d meet them, whoever they were, eventually, so she really didn’t _have_ to worry about it. It became just another fact of her appearance: Jane Foster is short and scrawny, with brown eyes and brown hair, and a soulmarking that nobody can make head or tail of.

 _Aliens!_ wasn’t exactly her first thought when she looked at her arm.

(But, though she’d never admit it, she _had_ considered it, once or twice.)

Thor, once he actually got around to explaining – and translating – it, was somewhat abashed at the sheer _mundanity_ of the words: _Where am I?_ Jane, though, thought it fitting: she studied the stars, she’d fixed the Bifrost, she’d been destined, since birth, to travel the universe. Thor was a fixed point in relation to all of that. _Her_ fixed point.

And most calculations needed a constant.

 

_BETTY_

From birth to the age of 23, Betty knew three things about her soulmate:

1\. She would speak to them, whoever they were, first.  
2\. They were incredibly polite.  
3\. They would recognize her almost immediately.

It was a real relief, in a world populated with generic ‘hi’ and ‘oh, hey’ soulmate markings, to know that they wouldn’t have to deal with that kind of confusion. She felt content, knowing that _this_ , at least, would be relatively easy, even if having an actual _relationship_ might be hard (her parents’ example was proof positive that not all soulmate pairs experienced nothing but sunshine and daisies).

When, at 29, she felt a strange itch suffuse the skin of her back while she watched her work and her father’s scheming turn the man she loved into something – some _one_ else, there was a little part of her brain that took the time to bitterly reflect on that momentary contentment.

Nothing would be easy, not for her, not for _them_ , ever again.

_No, no, it was my fault, here, let me get that…wait, what did you say?_

 

_It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog._

When Bucky fell, watching Steve’s horrified face get smaller and smaller as the train sped on, he thought his fight had run out. When Bucky woke, senses dim and shoulder heavy, to find that Hydra had him, part of him wished it had.

They’d taken his _words_ , _Steve’s_ words, when they took his arm. He remembered how they’d looked, crisp and black and beautiful, marching down the inside of his forearm from elbow to wrist. Now there was nothing but shiny metal, but he remembered…

He remembered, and so he kept looking, but the words were gone and it _hurt_ …

He remembered, but looking _hurt_ , and so he stopped…

He remembered there was something, it was _important_ …

He remembered…

He forgot.

 

_That’s not your real hair color, is it?_

Virginia _hated_ her words when she was growing up. It was hard enough growing up tall, skinny, freckled, and _ginger_. Knowing that her soulmate would see her hair first, and everything else second? That was frustrating as all get out. She was more than her hair, for god’s sake.

She cultivated an air of icy unflappability and sheer, unyielding _competence_. She perfected a glare that could freeze a man at ten paces, and an unimpressed expression that frequently left her superiors over the years questioning their life choices.

Then she met Tony and it all made sense: her soulmate wasn’t _trying_ to be an asshole, he was just _succeeding_ at being Tony, and Tony was a man who had built no small part of himself around the words he’d known his soulmate would someday say to him.

It was endearing and frustrating and totally _Tony_.

She was exasperated and challenged and completely happy.

 

When her friends would pull back sleeves, pull up hems, pull down necklines, smile and laugh and talk and _flaunt_ their soulmarks, Darcy would duck her head, sometimes blush. If pushed, she would extend an arm, slide her stack of bangles up and expose the _God, you’re beautiful_ that almost completely covered the blue veins of her right wrist.

She liked to look at those words, with their fancy script. They were lovely, they made her _feel_ gorgeous and loved and wanted. She cherished them and the way they made her feel, and she promised herself that the moment she found the person who would say them, she would lay a dramatic movie-quality kiss on their lips in thanks for the endless aid they’d given her in getting through her awkward (uncomfortable, overendowed) teenage years with self-respect intact.

The words on her wrist were a comfort.

The words on her ankle were a concern.

They were a little more blurry than the crisp lines on her wrist: they faded a bit at the edges. They wrapped all the way around her ankle, _twice_. She didn’t understand them, didn’t know what to do about them. Sometimes they felt like a shackle: tying her to a future that was sure to be frightening, and probably more than a little dangerous, but she never resented the person destined to say them. Sometimes they were almost comforting: there was something oddly _grounding_ in knowing that she was meant for a person like that. Whoever they were, however they’d been hurt, she was the perfect person for them, and that was both a thrill and a responsibility.

Still, she hoped she met _God, you’re beautiful_ first. She had a feeling she’d need them in order to be the sort of person that _I woke up with your words wrapped around my wrist, doll, and no matter how hard they tried, they never could quite manage to burn them away_ needed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY GOOD GODDAMN MOTHER OF DRAGONS.
> 
> Okay, first off, thank you to everyone who has commented, bookmarked this fic, or given kudos. I was not expecting this level of response, so _thank you_. Just. Holy shit, guys! So, ah, there will be one more chapter to this fic, which will be the reciprocals of the relationships mentioned in THIS chapter. I will start working on an actual-facts sequel after I post THAT chapter, because apparently you like this, you _really_ like this!
> 
> I'm going to keep the sequel separate from this fic, because the style is going to shift pretty dramatically (while I enjoyed the experiment of the short'n choppy snippets, I don't think it lends itself well to actual plot). Plus, I actually think these snippets work well as stand-alones.
> 
> (Also, I have a massive amount of soulmate thoughts and feels, so I might make some AUs of this where I experiment with other pairings. They'll be in separate fics, so if you just wanna read this'un, that's totally okay.)
> 
> Again, thank you, everyone. I really am completely blown away by this response. You are all awesome!

Sharon’s words made her aunt (great-aunt, really, but she’d always been closer to Peggy than she had her father’s actual siblings) chuckle when she first heard them: “In my day they would have been commonplace, here and now? You’ve got a polite one, darling, and that’s not a bad thing.”

‘Polite’ wasn’t really the word Sharon would have used, after all, her words were not exactly located in a ‘polite’ area. She’d met people with arguably stranger marks – Wilson, who she ran with sometimes, had a band of illegible symbols on each bicep and a line of English text running just below his pecs; that one agent with Cyrillic scribble covering half his neck; Hill’s was stamped on one buttcheek (and the story of how she knew _that_ was one she’d take to her grave).

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what, exactly, her relationship with her soulmate would be like when fate had seen fit to stamp their words to her just above her _mons_.

_Pleasure to meet you, ma’am._

 

Phil had never been entirely sure what to do with his words: _Was that a come-on?_ He just wasn’t a flirt by nature, even with those words to shape him. He was more an observer than, as his mother would say, a ‘shit-stirrer.’

That said, he supposed that either his soulmate must be so unusual or unique that he couldn’t _help_ but hit on them, or (and this was far more likely), they were a prickly person. Either way, he was too busy to really worry about it, one way or the other, until one day he saw the big, pretty brown eyes and flat, unsmiling mouth of the newest agent trainee and realized that assuming it would be an either/or proposition was a big mistake.

 

_Oh, fuck. Fucking, goddamn, hellfire and **shitsticks!**_

The small cluster of profanity that rested over Nicholas Fury’s heart was his best-kept and most closely-guarded secret. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, he would do to his soulmate on first meeting them that would inspire such an amazing litany of curses, but he hoped it was spectacular.

 

Hildr birthed her child alone, as was custom amongst her kin, and when first she looked upon the girlchild’s skin, she wept. Fair as milk, and shining, aye: her child was as healthy and lovely as any parent could wish…

But she was marked with the sign of the enemy, and it would not be born.

Under cloak of darkness, she slipped from her confinement and spirited self and babe to the palace, using all the arts of her warrior-craft to pass by the guards unseen. She paused, in passing one of the many gardens, arrested by a softly glowing golden light where only darkness should be.

“Hildr.”

She startled at the sound of her name, clutching her bundle closer.

“Hildr, come.”

The Valkyrie slowly stepped out onto the grass, unable to stop the reflexive twitch of her hand towards a weapon she’d long since put aside as the last gallop of her pregnancy began. She would slit her own throat, and her child’s as well, before she’d harm her queen, but instinct and reflex had her flinching back from the very person she’d sought.

Frigga sat in a pool of light that emanated from an orb slowly drifting above her head. In her arms was her babe, Loki, and on her face was a sad sort of smile. “I know why you have come,” she told the warrior, who was relieved to hear no censure in her voice.

“Then you have seen her fate? You…you can change it?”

Frigga shook her head, “There is no changing what will be. Some things are meant.”

Hildr gave a desolate cry, face crumpling in her grief. “She is doomed, then.”

“Not doomed, no. She will walk a thorny path, but the Norns will not be the arbiters of all its sharpness: there are many byways she might take. Some will be her choice, others will be chosen for her. There is light in her future, Hildr, take heart.”

“Is there nothing that can be done? I would have her be _safe_.”

“Whatever we might wish, we cannot take every blow meant for our children,” Frigga said, and it seemed she spoke almost to herself, though her eyes never strayed from Hildr’s. “But this is one hurt that can, I suppose, be postponed.” She reached out a hand and a pale fog drifted from her fingers to Hildr’s arms.

Hildr gasped, and stared down at the sleeping face of her child, watching as the blue lines that traced the still-soft features of the girl’s face began to melt away under the touch of that gentle golden mist.

“Bless you, majesty, bless you,” Hildr said, weeping with relief.

Frigga waited till the other woman had left, back the way she came, before slowly unwrapping the swaddling from Loki’s sleeping form. To her eyes he was doubled: she saw what everyone saw – the babe-fair skin of a young Asgardian – but she also saw the cold blue flesh of the infant Jotun.

It was that second skin, the truer one, that held the mark of his fated mate: a knot, now colored in every imaginable shade of red where once it had been black, of tangles and snarls curled in the hollow of his throat.

“One day, you will forgive me. I may never forgive myself.”

 

Whenever someone would comment on Sam’s calm nature, he would smile: “Psych degree,” he would demure, “I learned to hide my crazy _real_ well.” In truth, that was only half the answer. He had been forced to learn patience: first, when he realized that absolutely _nobody_ knew what the goddamn squiggles that curled around each of his biceps were, and again when the line of (thankfully) _English_ script appeared on his chest.

 _Three_ soulmates. _Three_. He didn’t think he was that unbalanced, but apparently the universe had decided that his perfect complements belonged to a set of four. At least, he hoped they were a set of four, instead of one of the weirder, not-entirely-reciprocal poly match-ups that popped up from time to time. He thought it was a pretty safe assumption, considering.

Oh well, at least he and _Oh my god, PLEASE tell me you know what the squiggles mean!_ could be clueless together.


	4. Chapter 4

Skye’s childhood had been on the sucky side of okay, and given her a love/hate relationship with her soulmark _s_ , _plural_ , because _UGH, HER LIFE._ On the one hand, having multiple soulmark _s_ wasn’t necessarily a deal-breaker for adoptions: she remembered the three day waiting period when little Freddy had been in the Home, he’d had three different sets of handwriting decorating his tiny body and he was snapped up in no time!

Still, it set her apart from the other kids, especially the weird squiggles encircling her upper arms. It didn’t help that her third mark was a bland, _Whoops, my bad._ printed across the top of her left foot, right below the webbing of her toes.

Sometimes she thought that it would be easier if everyone just had _names_ to tell them who to look for, god, _so much easier_. Then she would remember that _that_ would make Mary Sue Poots inescapable, which, no, _hell_ no. Just. _No._

But, on the other hand, she had _three_. She had soulmate _s_ , and that was, yeah, that was pretty neat. Skye thought, in some of her more optimistic moments, that it was pretty cool of the universe to give her _three_ soulmate _s_. Sort of made up for the whole ‘not having a family’ thing.

Sort of.

 

_You have an excellent form. I mean you, ah, look good when you fight. You move well! …goddamnit._

Melinda was pretty sure that her soulmate was an idiot.

 

Maria wasn’t certain how old she was the first time she heard someone flippantly say something along the lines of ‘my ass is stamped property of the US of A.’ She was an army brat, all the way, so who knows who said it? Joking or not, it stuck with her, how could it _not_ stick, when her soulmark literally referred to her as a ‘soldier’ and was writ out in stark capitals across the roundest curve of one asscheek.

So, she knew a few things: she was going to join the service, she was going to fight for her country, and someday she was going to be a part of something big, _huge_ , possibly downright _world-changing_.

Oh, and apparently she was gonna be involved with someone from the upper brass.

Yeah, that part didn’t exactly fill her with warm fuzzies. It was hard enough being a woman in a dick-led, dick- _first_ organization like the military without mucking up the order, and sometimes _orders_ with sex and soulmates and whatnot.

She looked towards her future meeting with her soulmate with a mixture of excitement and trepidation: on the one hand, she would be starting something new, something potentially _amazing_ , on the other… the possibility of being accused of sleeping her way up the ranks.

Maria prepped for the possibility by being as awesome as she could possibly be (which was pretty goddamn badass, according to her own self-analysis and scuttlebutt), as competent, as fierce, as strong, because once she met her soulmate, she didn’t want there to be a single leg for critics to stand on.

_YOU'RE A GOOD SOLDIER, HILL, AND YOU'VE SERVED YOUR COUNTRY WELL. I'M HERE TO ASK IF YOU'RE READY TO SERVE YOUR **PLANET**._

 

When Fandral first saw Thor returning from battle with a grim-faced man walking at his right shoulder – opposite Loki, ever and always at Thor’s left – he didn’t know what to think. Thor was a mighty warrior, yes, strong and proud, with honor above reproach.

Yet, to Fandral’s knowledge, he had never taken an _asniz_. Why change that now?

He approached Thor later that night, once food and drink had made him mellow, and found his golden friend quite dimmed by whatever had happened in his battles. Thor lapsed into silence when Fandral made his first tentative attempts at broaching the subject, staring into his cup as if he might find answers there.

“It was not my principles that demanded Hogun's service, but his people’s,” Thor finally answered. “It was service or death and I – I could not let such a warrior die, not even to replenish his own honor, and so, by the laws of his people, his honor is mine own till he does me a great service. I would not see him brought low to raise me up, but I know not what to do.”

Fandral considered the problem, “He is to be our comrade, then, until such time as a balance is restored?” At Thor’s nod, he continued, “Then treat him as one of ours till he believes it, brother. As you lead, so, too, will Sif, Volstagg, Loki, and I follow.” He clapped his prince on his shoulder, “Bring him to spar with us on the morrow, that we might see the fine warrior that has so impressed you!”

The next day looked to be cool and breezy, when Fandral woke to greet it. He walked to the sparring grounds with a spring in his step, eager to try the paces of their newest, soon to be, friend. He had not meant to catch them unawares, but it was clear when he arrived, finding Thor and Hogun deep in serious conversation, that they had not expected him so early.

This was a blessing, for it meant he had a moment to compose himself after seeing Hogun’s arms, his _bare_ , arms: specifically the right one, where, high on his shoulder, he bore a mark near identical to Fandral’s own for all to see. Even as Fandral watched, one of the spherical designs that made up a corner of the looping triangle was filling in with color, shifting from black to a brilliant orange.

Unthinking, Fandral tore off his own shirt and watched with joy and amazement as one of the spheres on his own shoulder slowly shifted from black to a deep, woodsy brown. The design seemed to be the simplest of the three that adorned his skin: a beautiful, curving twist that, when studied with more care, was actually a heavily layered design that twisted back on itself, seemingly endlessly.

When he at last looked up, it was to find that Hogun was just before him, looking back and forth between their shoulders. His expression was difficult for Fandral to read, but, slowly, the grim-faced man began to smile.

“I am called Hogun,” he said, voice low and flavored with the sounds of his realm.

Fandral couldn’t stop his beaming smile, even if he’d wished to: “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Hogun.” He reached out a hand and gently clasped the other man’s shoulder, resting his palm over the bright orange circle that marked him as _his_ , just as he belonged to Hogun, and both of them to two others.

Tentatively, Hogun mirrored his gesture, and the two stood, clasping arms and smiling (Fandral with his teeth, Hogun with his eyes) till the sun rose to light the grounds and Sif , Volstagg, and Loki joined them to offer congratulations (Volstagg’s hearty, and nostalgic as he remembered his own meeting with his beloved; Sif’s sincere, but sad, as she had no mark to lead her to her mate; Loki’s surprised, but welcoming).

 _Now_ , Fandral wondered idly, _where are our third and fourth?_

 

Rhodey knew it was sort of irrational, but he fully blamed his future soulmate for the placement of his soulmark. Whoever she was, she must be possessive as _hell_ for his mark to be in such a visible place. He supposed, somewhat grudgingly, he should be grateful that at least it wasn’t stamped across his forehead for all to see (which could, and did happen: he always had felt sorry for the cadet with _It's pronounced Grenich, not green-witch._ just above his eyebrows).

Most folk had soulmarks somewhere they could cover with everyday clothes: upper arms, legs, feet, shoulders, backs, torsos. Most folk, if they had a soulmark on more than one part of their body had _more than one soulmate_. Not so, for Rhodey. There was just the one sentence, stamped onto BOTH hands.

On his left palm, it said, _It’s **Agent**_ and along the right, it continued with a, _not **ma’am**._ One continuous sentence, on both hands, in a black so dark it looked like it leached color from its surroundings.

Strong woman, definitely.

He was really looking forward to meeting her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I might be the first to write a Rhodey/Sharon Carter fic. I _know_ I'm the first to write Fandral/Hogun/Sam Wilson/Skye. Yeah, I went there. Anyways, this is the end of the short snippets, I really hope that everyone enjoyed them and THANK YOU all again for being INCREDIBLY AWESOME, _seriously_. I'm going to start working on the sequel, now, but I've no idea when it'll go up. I think that this works pretty well as a stand-alone, though.
> 
> Might post some random AU one-offs with different pairings (MUCH FEELS. SUCH HEADCANONS. WOW.) while I work on the sequel, but they will, as previously stated, be kept discrete from this, and will be marked as stand-alones separate from the main storyline.
> 
> Again, thank you, all of you: you are the wind beneath my wings, the crack that feeds my muse and MADE OF PURE WIN.  
> <3 amusewithaview

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  * [Riddick does have a soul (no matter what he claims)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3398423) by [Cinnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnie/pseuds/Cinnie)
  * [The fringe of love...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2573570) by [Cinnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnie/pseuds/Cinnie)
  * [Without You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3465566) by [PinkPandorafrog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkPandorafrog/pseuds/PinkPandorafrog)
  * [Well then...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3458999) by [Cinnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnie/pseuds/Cinnie)
  * [Whispers of the Past](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3488567) by [PinkPandorafrog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkPandorafrog/pseuds/PinkPandorafrog)
  * [Everything She Didn't Know She Wanted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4245780) by [bluecurls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecurls/pseuds/bluecurls)
  * [Candy Pink to Grey](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4546491) by [FanficAllergy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficAllergy/pseuds/FanficAllergy)
  * [Make Your Own Luck](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5138567) by [FanficAllergy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficAllergy/pseuds/FanficAllergy), [RoseFyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseFyre/pseuds/RoseFyre)
  * [Your words (branded on my skin)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5411756) by [Romennim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romennim/pseuds/Romennim)
  * [Darcy and Her Musically Inspired Soulmates](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5587837) by [ShadyMcKatie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadyMcKatie/pseuds/ShadyMcKatie)
  * [If at first you don't succeed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7315441) by [Jennatem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennatem/pseuds/Jennatem)
  * [Soulmate Bingo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8100679) by [Caiti (Caitriona_3)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitriona_3/pseuds/Caiti)
  * [Sergeant, Soldier, Soulmate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297242) by [ChrissiHR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrissiHR/pseuds/ChrissiHR)
  * [JMC](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8302795) by [SerialObsessor (ibelieveinturtles)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibelieveinturtles/pseuds/SerialObsessor)
  * [Widowed King](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8336542) by [LadyAnatar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAnatar/pseuds/LadyAnatar)
  * [In Which the Time is Too Early](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9234443) by [OrnateOtter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrnateOtter/pseuds/OrnateOtter)




End file.
